Lesson Learned
by rijane
Summary: Blaine gives Kurt a guitar lesson and a good bit more.


Author's Note: Many, many thanks to **Ella Greggs**, both for the beta and getting me to set deadlines for actually posting this story :)

The guitar case had seen better days. It was cracked in places and the stitching along the backside had started to fray. The stickers for music store now closed and bands long broken up were beginning to curl at the edges. Travel tag - Port Columbus to Newark, June 30, 1989 - was curling at the edges. Kurt opened it with a barely repressed air of reverence.

"It was my mom's," Kurt announced as he presented the guitar to Blaine.

"It's a beautiful instrument," Blaine ran a hand gently over the strings. The twang was not quite right. "Do you mind if I..."

"Go right ahead," Kurt watched as his boyfriend put the strings through their paces, tiny twists of the pegs sending pitches up and down. Blaine played a few chords and was at last satisfied. He began to hand it back, but Kurt shook his head. "No, keep going. It's nice to hear it played again."

Blaine straddled the stool and began fingering the chords.

_When I want you in my arms_

_When I want you and all you charms_

_Whenever I want you, all I have to do is_

_Dream, dream, dream dream_

Kurt let himself roll in Blaine's voice, singing along as he caught the familiar melody, it was one of the songs his mother used to sing.

_I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine_

_Anytime night or day_

_Only trouble is, gee whiz_

_I'm dreamin' my life away_

He watched from the bed as practiced fingers flutter across the fret lines. The song decrescendoed and ended.

"Your turn," Blaine offered the instrument.

"I don't play," Kurt shook his head. "I never learned."

"Let's fix that," Blaine rose from the stool and gestured for Kurt to sit.

"Really?"

"Of course. You'll need it to stand out on Idol. Make Lambert look like a hack."

Kurt held the guitar, positioned his hands the way Blaine had.

"Like this?"

"Closer to the bridge." Blaine moved slightly behind him and reached over his shoulder, pulling Kurt's hand down a few inches. "Here, let me show you."

Blaine settled behind him. Kurt felt his warm chest against his back, long legs wrapped around his own. Blaine's well-calloused fingers rested on Kurt's smooth ones, moving them into position.

"I'll help you finger. This is an A chord. Just the three strings." Blaine's breath tickled across the back of Kurt's neck. He strummed and a tentative sound came. "Good!"

Blaine moved one of Kurt's fingers slightly closer to the pegs.

"And that's A minor. A dark chord," Blaine reached around Kurt and plucked the strings himself, now nearly wrapped around the other boy.

Blaine curved his hand over Kurt's, wrapped around his fingers, gently moving them? into place. Kurt leaned back, so close his hair tickled Blaine's skin.

"C. That's a C chord." Blaine's voice was a bit breathless, his words a little more soft. But instead of strumming the guitar, he dropped his head and pressed his lips to the sweet spot of Kurt's neck, then along his neck. His hand had abandoned the guitar and were playing at Kurt's hips.

And then he stopped and Kurt felt Blaine's brief absence like a pain. But then Blaine was before him, taking the guitar like a child and resting it in its case, and then it was as though he'd never left. Kurt tilted his chin up, trying to remember all the things girls had said to him in changing rooms and choir practice. Mouth open, eyes shut. He'd practiced for the kiss, the real first kiss he wasn't sure would ever come. Kurt felt Blaine's hand running through his hair and then lips on his lips and he realized how much they hadn't told him, maybe couldn't tell him.

Kurt stood up, and leaned into the kiss with a sigh, his hand tentatively placed on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, tight. He pulled Blaine toward the bed and soon they tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs and lips. Blaine's hands teased up and down Kurt's chest, his shirt riding up a bit with every circuit until a stretch of skin peeked between his Oxford and his Armani belt. Blaine's thumbs hooked the belt loops, his hands splayed across Kurt's hips and mouth busy at his neck. Kurt kept his hands busy in the tousle of Blaine's hair.

They were a few moments from buttons popping when Kurt heard a thud. It took a second. And another thud. The creak of footsteps across the floor. And the sound of voices.

"Shit!" Kurt rolled from underneath Blaine and shot up. He smoothed his hair, tucked in his shirt and wondered if his lips would really be swollen like in the novels. Then he sat on the stool, grabbed the guitar and strategically placed it across his lap as Blaine crossed his legs.

The footsteps came closer and the door to Kurt's room opened after a perfunctory knock.

"Kurt, we're -" Burt Hummel cocked his head when he spotted Blaine, still clutching the guitar for dear life. "Hi, Blaine, I didn't know you were over. What, uh, what have you boys been up to?"

"Blaine was giving me a guitar lesson," Kurt waved his hands over the instrument.

"Oh? How's it going?"

"Great, Mr. Hummel. Kurt's a natural," Blaine's smile was too wide, his voice a little too parent-pleasing.

"Uh-huh," Burt scratched his head and got a confused look Kurt recognized from most of his childhood, something in him warring for the right reaction, the right words. "Keep those feet on the floor, okay?"

"No problem, Dad," then as his father hurried away, added sotto voce, "Fortunately, it's your very talented fingers I'm interested in..."


End file.
